


Changing Colors

by Morbius10



Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Movies - Raimi), Spider-Man (Ultimateverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Crime Fighting, Eventual Romance, F/M, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 08:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15311616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbius10/pseuds/Morbius10
Summary: A year ago, Peter Parker donned the mask of Spiderman. But now, a man in a white mask is terrorising the city he has vowed to protect. Peter must now come to grips with his responsibilities as he tries to beat a foe he is no match for.





	1. New York dreams

**CHAPTER-1**

Darkness had descended on the city. A half-moon hung over the steel towers of Manhattan, shining its silvery light on proceedings below.

"Good job tonight Dmitri!" a man called out of an open door. "Rehearsals were a pain tonight, but you did good"

The man called Dmitri, grunted in approval as he walked out into the night.

It had rained heavily some time ago. Drops of rain clung on to the glass-fronts of the shops on Broadway, while pedestrians walked around with their umbrellas in expectance of another downpour.

Dimitri Smerdiyakov, however, did not even bother to straighten the collars of his overcoat as a harsh wind ploughed through the avenue. The cold winds of November were inconsequential to him. Pushing past a group of homeless teenagers, he cut through an alley. Incidentally, one of the homeless kids followed him.

"You want a fight man! I could drop you in a second!". The boy was a ponytailed ruffian who barely reached his elbow. "Oy, I'm talking to you"

Unable to shake him off, he flashed a look of annoyance at the boy. Surprisingly, the little bugger ran off, peeling with laughter. Back home, he would have had him up in chains. Kids got off too easy in this country.

Walking with purpose, he located his destination - Red Note restaurant. He shifted his eye from the lavish exteriors to the glass panes of the shop. Almost instantly, he spotted his target – a man with dirty blonde hair seated right against the window. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the cozy interiors of the cuisine. The warm smell of coffee permeated the closed atmosphere.

Making his way through the cluster of tables, he sat down opposite to the blonde man. It was more of a booth, than a table.

"Mr. Smythe", Dmitri greeted.

"Spencer, please. Formalities are a bygone in this era, I'm afraid"

He removed his hat and placed it on the counter. "You brought what I asked?"

"Down to business already? No chit-chat?" Spencer Smythe asked in a buttered tone.

"Nothing to chat about. I wanted something, and you can give it to me"

"Very true. But the nature of your order was quite… rare, if I do say so myself"

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. I'm just merely curious as to how you plan to use this device, though, I have my suspicions"

"I don't care about your  _damn_  curiosity? Did you build it or not?"

"Oh yes, there are very few things I cannot build", he smirked. "Though it was not easy to build your specific request, I came through with it. In fact, I managed to put in a few inputs of my own"

"Well, where is it?"

"Patience my dear friend. It is a virtue like no other. Before I hand it to you, or show you the device in question, there are some things to be made clear"

Dmitri clasped the rims of his hat and leaned back into his chair. "I am listening"

"As you very well know, I work for a very, let's just say,  _privileged_ client, who would like to remain anonymous at all costs. So, my first request would be, that by no means am I to be linked to your actions with regard to this device. If anyone asks, you built it."

"Do you take me to be a fool? I know how to-"

"Hush now. These are merely the terms of negotiation. There is no need to get upset over this, or maybe you don't want the device anymore?"

"Hmf…Continue"

"As I was saying, no red herrings. Second of all, I need something in return"

"I have money"

"Money is merely trinket to me. My client pays me enough to satisfy all worldly desires. What I want from you is much more valuable."

He bit the insides of his cheek feverishly. "What do you want?"

The smirk on Smythe's face deepened, "You know, I ran a background check on you last night. I was  _absolutely_ delighted by what I found."

He immediately swerved his head around, in fear of someone eavesdropping. "Quiet! There are ears everywhere!"

But instead of saying anything, Smythe pulled out an old musty file from the back pocket of his coat. Dmitri had seen it before, but in a place far away, and a long, long time back.

"Look at what this says-", Smythe said, as he opened the folder. The first page was covered with mugshots. "Fifteen years in Moscow prison. Impressive. Your repertoire speaks for itself."

He grabbed Smythe's hands. "What do you want from me?"

"Yes,  _now_  you understand the nature of your predicament." Smythe said with a smile.

"There is something I need you to do"

_XXX_

"I'm not sick Aunt May!"

"But you sneezed, Peter! Thrice!"

"Doesn't mean I'm sick!"

"Doesn't mean you're perfectly healthy either". She tried in vain to stick the thermometer into his mouth, "Why is your hair wet? Have you been out in the rain?"

Peter ducked away from her. Making a wild turn, he ran up the stairs to his room. "I'm not sick, May!", he shouted, as he slammed the door to his room.

As soon as he was secure, he grabbed his towel and vigorously dried his hair. A bad flu was definitely due and his throat already felt scratchy. He pinched his nostrils just in time to stop another sneeze. One more sneeze and his aunt would burst in. He rushed to his washbasin and blew his nose.

"Ugh", he groaned, as copious amounts of mucus streamed out. "Yuck"

Once he had satisfactorily cleaned himself, he glared at the pair of white goggles hanging from his coat stand. His drenched red and blue costume was dripping onto the carpeted floor.

The evening had been an absolute nightmare. He had spent hours upon hours, slipping and sliding off perches and walls, and having a horrible time as he tried to scale to higher grounds. Even his trusty webs-shooters, which had served him satisfactorily till now, had been useless in the rain.

Later, his embarrassment had reached new heights when he had slipped off his web-line and landed right in the middle of a puddle. A group of New Yorkers, each carrying an umbrella, had descended on him instantly, taking pictures and laughing their asses off. Eventually he had escaped, but not without losing some of his dignity.

Grumbling, he picked up his webs-shooters and placed them onto his desk. He  _absolutely_  needed them to work the next time he went out in a storm.

He unscrewed each part and let the water dribble out. He checked and double-checked the wirings for any faults. Unable to find any, he began working on the composition of his webs. The adhesive wasn't reacting well to water, which was understandable, considering the fact water was a really good solvent. So, the logical thing to do would be to increase the density; that way it wouldn't get diluted so fast.

But increasing the density would have problems of its own. It would mean he would run out of webs faster than usual. He dropped a pellet into a glass of water, as he thought of alternatives.

He didn't know how long he spent tinkering with the project. It must have been hours. Only when the screen of his phone lit up and the caller ringtone ensued, did Peter finally stir from his work. It was his photography teacher.

"Mr. Morrison", he rasped.

"Peter, sorry to disturb you at this time of the night"

"What's up?"

"I was just on my way to bed, when I remembered an urgent matter"

"Mm-hmm?"

"It's related to your submission last week"

Without meaning to, he blushed, "Wait, before you give me a C, I can explain the chihuahuas"

"I can understand why you're appalled. I didn't ask for dog pictures last week."

"I was working in a daze. I didn't mean to submit those."

"It's fine, we can hear your excuses later. No, I was talking about a much more interesting snap of yours. The one in the alley?"

"You'll have to be more specific sir. I don't remember every picture I take"

"I see. Well, does the one with the red and blue streak ring a bell?"

The blood in his veins froze, "You mean... You mean the one with... "

"Well, at first I wasn't so sure. The lighting in the shot was so dim, that I had no inkling what I was looking at," his teacher explained. "So naturally, I scanned it and started enhancing it. I needed to know what I was grading you on. "

Peter already knew where this conversation was leading now. Full blown trouble.

"It took me a few hours, putting in light sources, removing blurs, enhancing the textures, but guess what, it all paid off! I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the final product! " his teachers voice was full of childish glee.

"Umm... Good for you, sir. But I made a mistake. I didn't mean to turn that picture in". It had been a ridiculous photograph. He had used his uncle's old camera and had regretted it almost immediately.

"And good for you as well Mr. Parker! You not only aced last week's homework, but you also managed to get a photo of New York's elusive vigilante. You can't believe how proud I am."

"I aced the homework?" he asked, not sure he had heard right.

"Yup definitely. You brought me a picture of Spiderman. Of course, you aced my test."

"But it wasn't part of last weeks topic. You asked for pictures of historical sites in the city"

"Pff, a trivial matter. I can grade my students however I like."

"Oh ok", he was pretty sure that was wrong.

"But that isn't all Mr. Parker. I was so enthused by your piece of work, that I couldn't keep it to myself"

Oh, no. If trouble was where he was headed before, this was certain doom.

"I don't know if you are aware of this. But as it turns out, pictures of Spiderman are selling like hot cakes. Papers like New York Times and The Daily Bugle are scouring for good shots. So,... I sent them a copy of yours."

"You...What?!", he blustered on the phone.

"And...well, The Bugle called back. Today. "

"They called back? The Daily Bugle", his head was spinning now.

"Yes, they sent a mail, saying they would like to meet the photographer. They've set up an appointment and everything"

He didn't even bother to reply back this time. How on earth could he have been so careless. After months of planning and sneaking out at night, and covering up his bruises and lying to Aunt May, how could he have jeopardised it all in a single stroke.

"Now Peter, I know what you are thinking. It was wrong of me to send your picture without your consent, and it probably was, but you have to understand, this is a wonderful opportunity for you to-"

But Peter had already hung up. He didn't want to hear another word. What he wanted to do was sink through the floor and disappear.

What were the people at the Bugle going to ask him? Probably something like – "how did a sixteen years old manage to click a picture of Spiderman when every other professional photographer in New York was failing miserably?'.

And how was he going to explain it? – "Just happened to be in the right place at the right time, sir."  _Yeah_ , he was dead.

He buried his head in a nearby pillow. Why, oh why, couldn't he just catch a break?

_XXX_

Dmitri lashed out in fury.

" _You understand the nature of your predicament, Mr. Smerdyakov? I know things about you. Your prison stint in Russia? I uncovered it. It was mere child's play. I know how you escaped, I know where you work, where you sleep, where you spent your last 48 hours. I can even send the cops to your doorstep on false charges. So unless you want that to happen, you'll do exactly what I say."_

His bedside table crashed to the ground, as he raged around his dingy apartment.

" _My client has big plans for New York. A true vision. But for his vision to come to pass, certain arrangements have to be made. You see, my employer will be carrying out some sensitive work over the next few months, and you remember when I mentioned before, that he relishes his anonymity? Well, the cops have been slightly brave recently and have trespassed into his territory, and so forth. What I need you to do is create a distraction, a spectacle, a grand show, something to hook the masses, and keep the police busy."_

He grabbed hold of a table lamp, and sent it rocketing into the opposite wall, shattering the bulb in the process.

"Will you stop that!" his landlady's screeched from downstairs. "It's two in the morning, and I haven't been able to catch a wink because of you. Another sound and I'm kicking you out!"

He resisted the urge to chuck another glass bottle against the wall, just out of spite. His one room apartment wasn't anything glamorous, or even adequately furnished, but it was still a hell of a lot cheaper than the usual Manhattan rented spaces. So, instead he took deep breaths.

Lightly walking up to his dresser, he picked up a razor knife. The metal on the handle was corroded, and the edge was no longer as sharp. Weighing it in his hands, he walked back to his bed, where a brown package lay. He skillfully slit the top open and poured out the contents onto his mattress.

A huge collection of wires spilled out. It seemed like a complete mess. There was wiring connected to innumerable sophisticated contraptions, wires connecting to small wafer-like semiconductors, and even wires running down a black cloth.

" _You are a highly elusive man, I'll tell you that. Your past is peppered with disguises and aliases. If I wasn't looking at the right places, I would never have figured them out to be the same person. Your skill of deception…. is admirable."_

He pushed the wires away. Somewhere sitting at the bottom of the pile, was a white bag. He gingerly pulled it up, and examined it. No, not a bag, it was a mask, a featureless mask. The light from the flickering bulb, glinted off its polished surface.

" _But you want more than just disguises, don't you? You want to be the ultimate actor. The greatest showman of all time! Well Dmitri, here's your chance", Spencer Smythe smiled at him._

"The greatest showman?", he whispered to himself, as he stared into the dark eyeholes of the mask.

"I will be better."

_XXX_


	2. New York screams

**CHAPTER-2**

_School was over by noon. The corridors were suddenly filled with kids scrambling to get out. A few stayed behind for detention. She wished she were one of them._

_Quite reluctantly, she gathered her things and followed the others. Outside, her friends offered to walk home with her, but she declined._

_The weather was nice. Bright and sunny, and full of life. It was a cruel and pitiful act of nature - to show her what she was missing._

_She cut a shortcut through a back alley into the next street where waiting for her was a man, who was leaning against an old muscle car. As she approached he lit a cigarette between the cup of his hands._

_"_ _Took you long enough", he grunted._

_Silently she slid into the passenger door._

_"_ _Hey! I said something," the cigarette hung feebly from his sooty lips, as he got into the driver seat._

_"_ _Just drive."_

_A rough calloused hand grabbed her wrist. "You don't order me around kiddo! It would do you good to remember whose roof you live under."_

_The hand came off and the engine revved. She gingerly massaged her wrist._

_"_ _Fourteen fuckin' years and still no respect. Not a bone of decency in your body. "_

Not for you, no.

_"_ _What? Nothing to say? You know what, that's some improvement for you. Finally, some manners!"_

_The weather wasn't nice anymore. The trees looked dull and dreary. Bright colours had vanished. Nothing seemed to pop anymore._

_"_ _God! I hate the day you were born!", the voice seemed to drown her. Bog her down into the marshland of empty thoughts._

_XXX_

MJ woke up with a muffled gasp. The room was shrouded in darkness. Outside, the night seemed to be playing out its very last vestiges. A quick look at her phone told her it was still a solid two hours before dawn.

Great! Waking up  _way_  too early on a Sunday! Absolutely Fantastic!

There was no way she was getting any sleep after  _that_  dream. Feeling unsettled, she got off the bed. Cold sweats were burning into her skin, chilling her even further. The gust of wind flowing in through the window made her wish she'd shut it before going to bed.

The bustling of traffic outside stunned her. Even in the residential zones of Queens where she lived, the streets were flooded with a continuous stream of multi-colored cars.

Truly, New York was a city that never slept. Just looking down at the streets below, she realized it. Ironically though, the people born and bred in this tapestry were the one's who never took a proper look at it. She wondered if years down the line she, herself, would become one of those people. The city would someday become such an intricate part of her life that she would fail to notice its existence just as fish does water, and man air.

And it scared her. To be inextricably linked to this place seemed a daunting prospect. How many dreams had been crushed here, she wondered. How many forgotten souls inhabited its dark corners? It seemed more than likely she too would have her spirit torn away in this giant bubbling cauldron.

Suddenly, a movement caught her eye. It was slow and deliberate, and she wouldn't have noticed it had it not been so close. The window of her neighbour's house slowly slid open and a brown haired boy emerged from within. Peter Parker is nimble on his feet, she thought. But what the heck is he doing, standing on the roof?

She knew for a fact that the Parkers were her neighbours. Aunt Anna had made that quite clear in the brief two months she had spent here, by regaling her with tales of the great kid who lived next door. She was full of praise - how polite and thoughtful he was; a promising kid with a promising future.

Well, she wasn't as sure what that  _promising_  boy seemed to be doing lying on the fire escape with his feet hanging over the ledge. Not a great idea. A fall would surely break his neck.

Maybe, it was his way of rebelling. Maybe all that polite and thoughtful bullshit had finally cracked him.

That would certainly explain his attitude. The last time they spoke he'd come off as a jerk; nothing at all like the knight in Aunt Anna's tales.

But then again, who was she to judge. Hadn't she been through enough in her own life? Maybe Peter Parker had too.

Maybe everyone had.

_XXX_

Peter didn't want to get off the bus.

It was his stop, but the yawning doors of The Daily Bugle building looked at him sternly, as if to say, " _You dare!"._ Nervously, he disembarked and inspected the grandiose building.

But everywhere he looked, all he could see were huge billboards covered with the face of J. Jonah Jameson, the editor-in-chief of The Daily Bugle. He didn't know which was more impressive – his late 60's moustache or his ferocious scowl. Swallowing his anxiety, he walked in.

Five minutes later, he exited the elevator with a visitor's pass pinned to his chest. The place was a mess - people shouting over cubicles, people rushing in and out of closed doors, cameramen blocking the corridors. It was all busy, busy and busy. And thankfully, no one was paying any attention to him. He had imagined he would stick out like a sore thumb.

A nearby door suddenly swung open. A tall man and a portly fellow stepped out.

"Where's the fire safety article I asked for?"

"Didn't Urich have it?"

"Well, where is Urich?"

"Don't know. Haven't seen him since coffee break."

"Off working on his own again?"

"You know what he's like, Robbie, never rests on his haunches."

"He better bring me something good. I need that article."

"Umm, excuse me", he called, stepping in front of them. "I'm…. new here, Peter Parker… I was called here…. because of a picture"

"Mr. Parker?"

"Yeah."

"The one with the Spiderman picture?"

"Yeah… I think so"

"Hmm, Joseph Robertson", the man extended his hand. "You can call me Robbie. Everyone does. Follow me."

They made their way through a trail of open corridors, until they came upon a door that said "J. J. Jameson, Chief editor". That anxious feeling in his chest increased tenfold.

"After you Mr. Parker", Robbie said.

Swallowing his panic, he stepped in.

" **A Rabbit! A missing rabbit?!** Who does she think I am, the head of Buzzfeed?"

A pause and then, "I don't  **care** if she's eight! Get her a babysitter or something. I'm trying to run a paper here, for christ's sake".

The phone hit the desk with a loud thud.

Just like the billboard outside, Jameson looked like a 60's comic book character. Peter couldn't help but feel that some of the frown lines on his face were a bit unnatural. How angry was this guy?

"Boss", Robbie greeted.

"Robertson, get in here! My wife's been calling  **all day**  about some plumbing nonsense. I need you to make a call to the city office. Get the best plumbers on the job. I want this thing done before noon."

A resigned sigh escaped Robbie's lips. "I'm not your PA, Jonah. I imagine Ms. Brant would be more suited for this task?"

" **Briana!" bellowed Jameson.**

"It's Betty, Jonah. Betty Brant. Jesus, she's been working here for a year."

"That's what I said.  **Betty!** "

"She's not at her desk. Coffee break, I think"

" **Again?!**   **By my 'stache!** What am I paying her for?"

"Not to manage your anger, that's for sure", Robbie mumbled under his breath. "Look, I'm not here for… whatever you think I am here for. This….", a hand pushed Peter forward. "….is Peter Parker. The kid you asked for? The one who took the picture of priority number one."

An eerie silence filled the room, as Jameson's cold journalistic eyes analyzed him.

"Pablo huh?"

"Parker, sir."

"Took a Spiderman picture?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hmmm, 'twas a real piece of crap."

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"But, you're the only one with a photo of that second-rate-do-gooder."

"Umm…. Thanks."

"I'm using it for tomorrow's front page."

"You are?"

"Yup. Gotta make sure you knew about it though, since you're the photographer and yada-yada-yada. I suppose you'll want to get paid?"

"P- **Paid?** "

"Or not. Sounds good to me!"

"No no I'd like to get paid"

"How much?"

How much? Well money was a hard thing to come by at the Parker house. His monthly allowance barely covered his own expenses, let alone his crime fighting alter-ego's. It was an understatement that being a vigilante was expensive on one's life-style.

That being said, he also knew that a picture of Spiderman was a rare thing to come by. In fact, his might be the only one in the entire city, which meant this picture could be a golden ticket.

"A million dollars!", he said with a confident smile.

The neutral expression on Jameson's face crumbled into a bazillion pieces. Even Robbie looked slightly uncomfortable.

"Umm Peter, we don't pay photographers millions. There wouldn't be a Bugle if we did."

"Oh…. Of course, right."

"Why don't you try something more reasonable? Something like four hundred? That sounds reasonable?"

"Yeah, that's good"

"Done!", Jameson grunted signing a check. "And Perry?"

"Peter, sir"

"You get any more pics like this, you bring them here, all right?"

"Can I get a job? Like a contract? Where I get paid every month, you know? And I bring you these photographs?", Peter asked elated.

A sickeningly sweet smile spread across JJJ's face.

"Sure kid! I'd love to help you out….. **ARE YOU CRAZY?**   **GET OUT! Don't show your face here until you get me more pictures! OUUTTT!"**

_XXX_

"I never get why they have to be so hot?" MJ asked.

"That's how you drink it dear, hot! Otherwise it's just poison," Aunt Anna replied.

"Doesn't mean they have to burn my lips off."

"My my, Mary. I never took you for the complaining type."

"I just…. Don't like coffee much"

"But you're the one who ordered it! We had a full menu to contend with, but you said a simple coffee would do!"

"Yeah, not really sure why I said that", she mumbled.

"Mary Jane, look at me", Aunt Anna said suddenly. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"You don't look okay."

"I'm fine."

Her aunt sighed. "Is it your father?"

She spluttered on the burning sip. "What? Why would you say that?"

"Nothing really. But we don't have to talk unless you want to."

A silence followed.

"But if you won't talk about it, then you  _have_  to stop acting so glum! It's a Sunday! We're in Manhattan! Eating at a restaurant! I didn't bring you here to be  _sad_!"

"No? I thought that's why we were here"

"There you go. Finally, some cheek! At least we've got that in common"

"Really? You're cheeky?"

"Honey, you have no idea. I used to annoy the living daylights out of my father. Your grand-dad didn't have much in the way of a sense of humor, you see."

She grinned at her aunt's vivacious spirit.

"That's more like it! You look gorgeous when you smile, dear."

"Well you do too!"

Her aunt giggled. "Ten points! For making an old lady feel good about herself"

"Old? Who said you're old?"

From there on, she genuinely enjoyed her company. They talked about her job as a dentist, the kinds of patient she dealt with then, and then it turned to her new school, her new classmates, how she missed her old friends, and all sorts of pleasant talk. Time flew like a bullet.

"A blog? Really?"

"It isn't much. I started it….. I don't know, a year ago maybe"

"Wow, that's great. What kind of blog is it?" her aunt asked.

"It's….. you know, daily stuff. News reports, my own opinions on various topic, it's a mixture, really. Sometimes I even use it to rant on things I hate."

"Blow off some steam, am I right?" Anna smiled.

"Well, I try to remain as unbiased as possible, but sometimes going off the handle is  _really_ refreshing."

"Whatever be the case, I want you to know….. I'm proud of you."

They held each other's gaze for a moment, a silent understanding passing between them.

"I know you're not comfortable talking about it", her aunt said suddenly. "But, I visited you in Carolina once. You probably don't remember. You were just five or six. And I saw what Philip was doing to you. No food in the refrigerator, no money in the dresser, just beer bottles. The whole house reeked of alcohol."

"And cigarettes."

"Madeline would never have allowed it, believe me. She would never have let her own daughter suffer like that."

"He always told me I killed her."

A horrified expression came upon Anna's face.

"He said it to me every day, to the point where I actually started to believe him. I was so young."

"He was a monster."

"He was what circumstance had made him, I guess. A product of his time, perhaps …. But that never stopped me from hating him."

"And now?... Has anything changed now?"

She lowered her gaze. "I don't know…..I-I don't know if anything's changed with his….death."

"I see."

The light from the sun was dimming outside. Manhattan was coming alive with thousands of tiny lights. The streets were bustling; weekend or not, the traffic was still the same. It was going to take hours to get back home. But she didn't want to go back just yet. She had had such a good time, the most in a long, long time. Maybe she should do this more often; go shopping, eat at restaurants, travel around the world, live in five-star hotels, meet all sorts of peo-

That's when she heard it - Gunfire.

It came out of nowhere, but it sounded close. Closer than she would have liked. There it was again. Right outside.

Panic ensued inside the shop. People were screaming all around her. Their reaction stunned her even more. What was wrong with her? Why did she feel dazed?

" **MJ! MJ! Mary Jane!** "

"What!"

"We have to go!", her aunt's surprisingly firm hand pulled her to her feet.

"How? It's….. they're right outside!"

The glass-front of the shop burst open as bullets riddled in, drawing even more screams. She had no idea if anyone was hurt or worse dead.

"The kitchen door! Out the back! Now"

"But what about these people?"

"They'll follow us when they see we have a way out. Now, let's go!"

She wasn't sure how her aunt was making these rational choices. But she was glad that one of them was.

"Stay low, and try to avoid the glass."

The gunshots were still echoing across the block. In the back of her head, she was sure she could hear maniacal laughter somewhere far off. Where on earth were the cops?

((()))

The cops as it turned out, never showed up. Someone else did.

Three gun-wielding thugs cut down pedestrians, cars and shop fronts with their semi-automatic rifles.

"But I thought there was money involved in this, Dmitri!", one of them shouted over the gunshots.

"Not everything's about money Carlos! Are you not enjoying this?"

The man called Carlos frowned for a second and then, "Fair point."

So mad they were with power they never saw the red and blue figure diving at them from above. When Carlos was hit straight in the chest and sent flying back, the other two men stopped in stunned silence.

"Always wanted to try that", the costumed attacker said.

That was when all hell broke loose.

((()))

Once out of the back door, MJ peeked out of a corner to make sure the coast was clear.

"Can you see anything?"

"It's all dark. The lights have been shot down"

"Shit!" her aunt swore.

"We can't stop now"

Slowly, they made their way out into the empty street. Every place seemed to be deserted. It was unnerving to hear the gunshots so close. Her eardrums were practically throbbing with pain.

Three figures in black, each carrying a rifle, were firing off into the distance. Their mad laughter reached her ears, making her shudder in fear. She and her aunt hid behind a red convertible. It wasn't an ideal place for cover, but anything would do, considering.

And speaking of cover, where on earth was the NYPD? Weren't they supposed to respond to this sort of terror attack?

She peeked out from her cover and observed the gunmen. What are they doing? This didn't make any sense. Shooting at the crowd - what was there to be gained? Except death and destruction.

Somewhere high above the attackers, a flash caught her eye. It was moving fast, faster than she could follow. There it was again. Was that…. A man?

Without any further notice, a red and blue costumed man landed in the midst of the three gunners, knocking one out almost immediately.

"What on earth!", her aunt exclaimed beside her.

A similar thought went through her head. This new figure moved with  _inhuman_  speed. Not a single bullet seemed to touch him. So fast was this guy, that on few occasions he was merely a blur.

"This is our chance. We have to leave while they're distracted."

"But what about the people? At the restaurant?" MJ asked.

"They're smarter than you think. Look there"

A row of civilians were making their way out of the back alley. They were following the same route as them.

"Now let's go!"

Using the row of cars parked by the curb as cover, they made their way towards the exit. On their way to safety, she heard the magic sound she was waiting for. Sirens. A lot of them.

"Do you hear that?", her aunt asked.

"Cops. About time as well."

"No, the gunfire. I think it stopped."

She was right. The deafening hail of bullets had definitely ceased, leaving behind an eerie silence. Was the nightmare finally over?

((()))

"It's over!", Peter shouted through his mask.

Two of the perpetrators were lying on the ground in an unseemly position, knocked cold. The third was hanging upside down from a lamppost, covered in webs.

Sirens wailed in the distance. The cops would be here any second, which meant he had to make his exit.

"I've heard about you", said the upside down man. A white mask covered his face. He wasn't as unconscious as Peter had suspected.

"Yeah? I am a bit of a celebrity. Always have been."

"Well after your performance tonight, consider me a fan!"

"Ugh! And people ask me why I never interact with my fans."

"Well, I obviously don't know who you  _really_ are, but perhaps you're wondering who I'm behind the mask."

"I don't give a crap! You are a terrorist! "

"Terrorist? I'm a showman! This was a show! An introduction!"

"Are you serious? Well Mr. Showman, would you like an Oscar for your performance?"

"Are you mocking me?", the man raged. "The Oscar is for fools! A mockery of our society's penchant for entertainment and market value!"

"This from a guy in a white Halloween mask"

"This is not a Halloween mask!", the man protested, clearly triggered. "You cannot even begin to fathom-"

"Shut it McKenzie!", Peter shouted. "All I hear is a load of crap coming out of your mouth"

The man appeared stunned by his rebuttal, but it was hard to be sure with a mask over his head. "Why do you try so hard?", the man asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Why do you try to be like them? Why are you trying to act normal, when you  _so_  clearly are not. You and I, we're both cut from the same cloth. We're two masked men living a lie. We're different from  _them._ "

"Is that what you tell yourself? Is that how you get a sense of entitlement? Does your mask give you a sense of superiority over others?"

"It does!", he said. "And so should  _yours!_  It elevates you above the masses!"

"Hmm, Funny way of putting it. Because my mask has brought me nothing more than trouble. I would gladly hang it up if I could"

"Then you're a fool as well! You do not understand the value of what you have…. Of what you could  _become!_ "

"Tell me something…. Do you always talk this much, or only when you get caught?"

"Bah! You're much more annoying than I had presumed."

"Likewise"

The sirens were just around the corner. He was cutting it real close with this. The cops were going to make an entrance any time now.

"I am disappointed", the man proffered at last. "I expected more from you."

"Oh yeah! Well guess what, that's life. You  _never_  get what you want. Take me for example; I was on the verge of a  _real_  nice nap just a while back. It was the most beautiful thing, until I woke up halfway through it, to find out a bunch of maniacs tearing up my city!"

"You're just a child", the man said finally.

"And you're an adult. So grow out of it already!"

Tired of this conversation and just tired in general, he swung away.. Not a moment later the cops rushed in.

"You'll see me again Spiderman." Smerdiyakov promised, as he watched the hero swing out of sight.

"Sooner than you think!"

_XXX_


End file.
